


The Actor

by 108_Stars



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Because you're actually an Agarthan spy, Gen, Implied Kyphon/Loog - Freeform, Pan POV, Sometimes you're the odd one out in a group of friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/108_Stars/pseuds/108_Stars
Summary: The stalemate will be over tomorrow however and with it, the facade known as Pan. He will slink back into the shadows, unneeded. He may be missed, by a few perhaps, but most of these soldiers hardly know his name.Pan, the night before the final battle at the Tailtean Plains.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	The Actor

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, welcome to my increasingly niche Three Houses fics! This is a short piece that I couldn't get out of my head, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Thank you to [Kay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming) for reading over this for me!
> 
> Title from The Actor by Everything Everything, which I recommend giving a listen to.
> 
> Cw: Paragraphs 3+4 have brief mentions/descriptions of a corpse. There is no intense gore, though.

The full moon shines over the Tailtean Plains, casting an eerie glow over the empty field. Torches flicker in the distance, lighting up the blood red banners hanging over the enemy camp. Behind him lies his own camp, much smaller, but with just as many banners. Blue, not red, though the distinction means little in the end.  
  
A flame sparks in his hand. He watches it for a moment, gold sparks dancing, but he can’t let himself get too distracted. He’s already outside camp long after sundown and he’d rather not give Kyphon another reason not to trust him. His fellow general had stormed out of their war tent earlier, claiming that ‘nothing less than a miracle’ would secure them victory here.  
  
A miracle they will have, or something close to one, at least. Pan lazily flips his palm, directing the flame towards the corpse lying at his feet. Its eyes stare back at him, or perhaps towards the sky. A final missed drop of blood has begun to congeal at its neck, just above the neckline of its blue undershirt. He watches as the flames catch, first on cloth, then on flesh. It won’t take long to burn; they never do with magical flame. Orange reflects in glazed over eyes. The blue shirt is quickly no more, a few shreds blowing away from the fire on the gentle breeze. 

It shouldn’t have been this easy, but there are too many naive young souls in this army, spurred on to offer their help by thoughts of a better future. With no evidence, this corpse will be just another in a string of desertions over the past week; there’s nothing strange about that, these things happen in war. Besides, there are far greater things to worry about than one or two missing soldiers. If one or two (or three or seven) have to die to see that the rest survive, that seems like a fair trade. It’s simple maths, after all. 

Still, as he observes the frozen expression of fear, he can’t help but feel a flash of pity. How cruel, to have their life snuffed out at seventeen. How kind, that in doing so, they will achieve greatness they’d never have been capable of otherwise. Whether it makes for a fair trade is something he'll leave to others to decide. He kneels and whispers a few words of thanks as unnatural fire turns the body to dust.  
  
Pan stands, straightening out his robes. They’re heavy things, far more cumbersome than the lighter fabrics he’s used to, but the surface world is far too cold for such things, especially in the North. If only they were to continue their march onwards towards Enbarr; he could see himself remaining there. But orders are orders. He will see that they have victory tomorrow, see this new Kingdom rise.

The camp is almost silent when he returns. Everyone seems to have turned in early, leaving the few soldiers on watch as the only signs of life. Gone is the jovial atmosphere-- the drinking, the card games, the singing. _So much singing;_ he’s sure he’ll never be able to forget ‘My Love Lies Beyond The Rhodos Coast’, no matter how long he lives. It’s strange to miss such trivial things, even more so given his tendency to watch from afar. Years of exposure to nothing else have made him a sentimental fool. A rebellion expected to take no time at all stretching on for years in an endless stalemate. 

The stalemate will be over tomorrow however and, with it, the facade known as Pan. He will slink back into the shadows, unneeded. He may be missed, by a few perhaps, but most of these soldiers hardly know his name. He doesn’t spend any time with them, staying removed for his own survival. Loog may have noticed that behind the veneer of a respectable mage lies an empty void, but Pan would prefer he stay the only one.  
  
Pan makes his way to the centre of camp, drifting through the lines of tents, as if on the wind. He could warp, of course, but all magic takes energy, energy he should save for tomorrow. The ritual will take everything he has, possibly more. He often wonders if a more powerful mage should have been sent for this task. Hard work has seen him far, but he has no innate talent; everything he has is the result of years of study. Perhaps his leader saw something great in him, or perhaps they needed use of those more powerful elsewhere. It isn’t for him to question.  
  
The Commander’s tent is still illuminated by a lantern. Loog’s tent is larger, though not ostentatious in design. A contrast from the Emperor’s tent, visible even across the plains. Loog demands no luxuries, content to live amongst his soldiers, taking no more than they do. An honourable man, through and through. It’s what makes him such a good leader. It’s also what makes him so easily manipulated.  
  
The sound of a conversation makes him pause outside his tent. Now that he looks closer, he can see two figures dimly shadowed against the cloth. There’s no surprise, not really, everyone in camp knows how _close_ Loog and his advisor are, though the tone of voice catches his attention. Angry, almost desperate.  
  
“If you know him to be untrustworthy, why is he still here?! Saints, do you have no sense of self preservation?”

A pause. Pan casts a cloaking spell, wrapping himself into the darkness.  
  
“He has served us well so far, friend. And I have no doubt he will do that same tomorrow! What business he may have after can be dealt with, if it arises. For now, we should think of battle and nothing more.”  
  
He knows, of course, that Loog has his suspicions. But Pan also knows Loog is willing to look the other way, to discount any doubts he may have. He’s proven himself too useful to be cast aside, as much as it would please Kyphon to see him fall. It can’t be jealousy, not when Kyphon has not only the ear, but the heart of their leader, but this sickly distrust between them is fuelled by much more than his status as an outsider. There are many others in the army not from the north-- opportunists, escaped prisoners, even a few who actually see this cause as noble. None of them have done anything to draw attention to themselves, not like Pan.  
  
“And what of battle?!” The sound of a fist slamming down on the table. “What will you do if he betrays us? His magic is far beyond anything we’ve even heard of before-- no mage could hope to defeat him.” 

A laugh, warm and full of affection.  
  
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to protect me as you always do. You aren’t called my Shield for nothing.” Pan strains to hear Loog’s voice as it grows softer. “We will both see it through tomorrow, I promise. You are--”  
  
The conversation grows quieter, too quiet to hear without magic. He shouldn’t waste magic on something trivial like this; they seem done discussing anything of importance. Important to outsiders, at least. He slips into his tent unobserved.  
  
It’s strange, that part of him wishes he’d be seen, to be caught listening. Before this assignment, he’d never felt jealousy. He’d claimed such emotions were beneath him, that they distracted from a single-minded goal to master all forms of magical arts. In truth, he’d never had the emotions to work beyond; the world had always seemed monotonous, lifeless even. The first time he’d felt the flame of jealousy in his chest, he’d been convinced he’d been poisoned, that Kyphon had found a way to get rid of him for good. He hadn’t needed poison, Pan later realised, just the unwavering attention of their King.  
  
No, Kyphon’s King. 

Pan answers to Loog only until this battle is done. Even if he did want to stay, he’d have no choice but to leave. He is powerful, yes, but those above him have methods at their disposal far beyond anything he could hope to comprehend. He’d rather return of his own accord than be dragged back screaming. Not that it would ever come to that. His laboratory sits empty, his notes untouched for far too long. His books wait for his return, gathering dust on the shelf. Soon he can resume his proper work, free from the distractions that mortal men can bring. 

There’s a clatter from the neighboring tent, the sound of armour being removed. It seems even their tireless King needs to rest; he needs to be alert for the battle after all. Not that it matters really, not when victory is already assured.

Pan blows the candle out and falls into a monotonous, dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/possiblevoid) here, please feel free to come chat about this, or anything else 3h.


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